


Little Helper

by Jld71



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Detox, Drug Use, Gen, Handcuffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 21:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16503260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jld71/pseuds/Jld71
Summary: Sam, with Dean’s help goes through detox.





	Little Helper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verucasalt123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/gifts).



> Written for the OhSam November Comment Meme 2018 hurt/comfort.  
> Prompt by verucasalt123: Sam has to detox. Illegal drug of writer's choice.

 

He had taken too much. He had know that when he had popped the fourth pill into his mouth. Or was it the fifth? He shrugged his shoulders. Did it even matter? Not really, not now. He took in a ragged breath, feeling the pain as his lung expanded and compressed. It was agony to breathe. Like his lungs were filled with razor blades instead of air. He tried to hold his breath, but that only intensified the pain. He would have moaned at the pain if he had the energy to do it. At this point, all he could do was shake as his body tried to rid itself of the effects of the drug. It made him dizzy and nauseous and then the blackness swam up to meet him.

 

He had taken it now and then in college. Adderall. It had been easy to come by back then. It helped him stay focused on his classes and gave him the energy to pull all nighters to study. It was just as easy to get now as it was back then, if you knew where to look. And he did. He had connections, thanks to his less than moral upbringing. If anything, it was easier now since they dealt with the seedier side of life; credit card scams, breaking and entering and the occasional murder, even if it was a demon in a meat suit.

 

He thought he had left the need for the boost back there when he had packed up and left Stanford. As he got older, he felt the need for it again. It helped with the research, pouring over the lore books all night long. Trying to find a spell to counteract a demon possession or a witch’s spell. New types of demons were rising up from the ashes of the ones the had killed. Spells they had never seen before were being used to curse the innocent. He needed that edge over the supernatural so he could save as many unsuspecting people as possible.

 

He wasn’t an addict. Not at first. It had only been the occasional pill when the drive had been too long and research had to get done.

 

Then it was two because he wasn’t fast enough to fight off an attack to save a woman from a blood thirsty vamp. In the dead of night, he still heard her screams of terror and pain as the vamp had ripped into her flesh before it had severed her jugular vein, ending her life. Sure, he had beheaded the fucker, but the woman was still dead. And that was on him.

 

But, it had finally caught up with him. When one or two pills hadn’t been enough.

 

He had hidden it pretty well, his little helper. Or at least he thought he had. But, he hadn’t been as covert as he thought he had been. Or Dean had just been more observant this time. Dean had picked up on his body twitches. Dean had noticed how he didn’t sleep. How he didn’t eat. So, Dean had watched him. Dean had even followed him when he went to score more of the drug he had been running low on. And, Dean had confronted him when he found him unconscious on the cabin floor. He had tried to play it off as exhaustion that had finally caught up to him after so many sleepless nights.

 

“Then explain the baggie with the orange and white pills,” Dean had demanded. His voice was low but full of fury.

 

All he could do was look at Dean. His mind worked at trying to find a way around this. He shook his head. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Really, Sam?” Dean had asked as he held up the baggie. The one he had bought only hours ago. Or had it been the other day? He was having trouble keeping track of things like that. “I found you out cold. How much did you take? Why did you take this crap?” Dean had asked. He sounded so hurt and disappointed.

 

“Needed it. Needed to stay sharp,” Sam breathed out.

 

“No, that’s just an excuse,” Dean shot back at him.

 

And then Dean was on him, wrestling him down on the bed. Before he knew it he was handcuffed to the metal headboard of one of the beds. “Come on Dean, really?” Sam asked as he yanked his wrist, clanking metal against metal and scraping his skin. “Let me out of these.” When Dean just shook his head no at him, he felt his anger bubble up to the surface. “Let me go! You can’t do this to me! YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

 

“Yeah, I know I am,” Dean responded quietly.

 

Sam went quiet as he looked around the cabin. The one off the grid, miles away from anyone else. He saw the stockpile of wood by the fireplace and the ample amount of canned goods spilling out from the cabinets, lining the counter. Dean had planned this. Dean had tricked him into coming here. “You . . . you played me,” Sam said in an even tone. “There’s nothing haunting these woods.” His voice had a defiant edge to it. He was going to kill Dean when he got loose.

 

Dean smiled at his brother, happy to see that Sam still had some of his brain cells firing in the drug induced haze. “Good, your mind’s not totally mush. Still got a couple of working brain cells. Still hope for you, yet” Dean taunted.

 

“Fuck you! I hate you!”

 

Dean shrugged at him. “I’d rather you hate me and still be alive, then OD and I have to bury your ass. By the way, cold turkey detox is gonna be a bitch,” Dean said as he climbed onto the other bed.

He curled up on the bed as best he could. Dean still hadn’t uncuffed him. He drew his knees up to his chest as he lay on his side. It felt like his blood was boiling in his veins. He was sweating and it felt like his mouth was filled with cotton. His heart hammered in his chest and his head was pounding. “Dean, please,” Sam croaked out.

 

“You’re gonna get through this,” Dean said, cutting through the haze and pain in his mind and body.

 

He wasn’t so sure. “Dean, just one pill, to take the edge off. Please . . .” Sam had pleaded. “Hurts so bad. Half a pill,” he had begged, knowing how pathetic he was.

 

“Can’t, Sammy,” Dean had said. He sounded so sad, like he was the one in pain. “That shit’s gonna kill you if you don’t kick it. And I’m not gonna lose you, not like that.”      

 

“Self-righteous prick!” Sam roared at his brother.

 

“Hey Sammy, this is the first day of the rest of your life,” Dean said brightly. “You’ve made it through the first twenty-four hours.”

 

“Yay. Now uncuff me,” Sam deadpanned as he stared, unblinking at his brother.

 

“Sorry to disappoint. That was only day one. You’ve got another twenty-nine to go.”

 

It was the casual tone in Dean’s voice that was grating on his frayed nerves. “When I get out of these cuffs, and I will, I’m gonna enjoy kicking the shit out of you.”

 

“Hey, another goal to strive for. Positive thinking already!” Dean wore a wide grin on his face as he looked at him.

 

By day fifteen, he stunk. He was sweating through his clothes, yet he was shaking with the chills that wracked his body. Dean had stripped him down and helped him to the bathroom to shower. He was too weak to fight, but Dean still kept the cuffs on him. At least he was clean, for the time being. He had two states of existence right now. One where he had one hand cuffed to the headboard or the other where both hands were cuffed together when Dean helped him to the bathroom. Life was awesome.

 

On day sixteen, Dean had dealt him a low blow. Dean had pulled him into the bathroom and forced him to watch as he emptied the baggie into the toilet. He then proceeded to flush it. Dean made him watch as his little helpers circled the bowl and then disappeared down the drain. He had raged at Dean for hours.

“Sit up,” Dean said as he sat on the edge of his bed. He could smell the broth in the bowl that Dean was holding. His stomach grumbled. He hadn’t been able eat to each much, or keep it down. But this was day twenty and he was actually feeling hungry, he wanted the broth. “Can feed myself,” he gritted out as Dean lifted the spoon to his lips.

 

“Let me help,” Dean murmured.

 

Grudgingly, he did. And he managed to keep the broth down. Maybe this was the turning point for him.

 

Day twenty-five had been a milestone as far as he was concerned. He had been able to eat toast and chicken noodle soup without tossing it back up. Dean had counted that as a win for him. He wasn’t too sure. He still ached from head to toe, but the ache was bearable. It didn’t feel like insects were crawling under his skin.

 

By day thirty, he was no longer shaking and sweating. He was actually dressed in a t-shirt and jeans instead of just his boxers. “How much longer?” Sam asked quietly. He watched as Dean raised his head up from the book he was reading. He scrunched his face up. Where had the book come from? Why hadn’t he noticed it before now? Oh right, to busy detoxing to notice anything. It wasn’t a lore book. It was one by Stephen King. Dean set the book aside and he could read the title, _It_. because of course his brother would be reading about a clown just to fuck with him.

 

“I’m only half way through this. When I’m done, we can think about leaving. And, you know I’m a slow reader.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Sam asked, not sure if he should believe his brother or not.

 

“It’s for your own good,” Dean replied, a serious tone to his voice as he locked eyes with Sam.

 

“You got another book?” Sam asked.

 

“Sure,” Dean said as he tossed Sam a battered paperback.

 

Sam picked it up and stared at it in disbelief. _Misery_. “Really?”

 

“What? You asked for a book. It’s that or nothing,” Dean replied. Then his eyes went wide. “Or, I could start from the beginning of this one and read it out loud.” He smiled and waggled his eyebrows at Sam, liking his own idea.

 

“No you’ve tortured me enough!” Sam shot back. “When are you gonna uncuff me?” He asked.

 

“When I’m done the book.” Dean lowered his head as he picked up the book and thumbed through it, finding the page he had been reading. “It’s for your own good,’ he said quietly.

 

Sam heard the sincerity in his brother’s voice. He also heard the hurt, sadness and fear in Dean’s voice and his heart clenched in his chest at it. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

 

“Don’t be sorry. Just fight it. Just keep fighting to stay clean every day, to stay alive,” Dean said without looking up.

 

Sam knew why Dean wasn’t looking at him. His brother was barely holding it together, had been since he had found him unconscious, since Dean had found the pills. His throat tightened and he wiped at his eyes, brushing away his unshed tears. He nodded yes in response, not really sure if Dean saw him.

 

“Good,” Dean said, never lifting his eyes as he turned the page in his book.

 

Sam felt his lips twitch up into a small smile. Day thirty; Dean hadn’t given up on him and he was on the road to recovery. It wouldn’t be easy. He knew there would be days where he struggled against his addiction. But, he was determined to keep fighting and he knew Dean would be there, helping him when he couldn’t do it alone.

 

“Read your book.”

 

Sam smiled, picked up the book and turned to the first page to begin reading. As his eyes settled on the written words before him, realized he had been wrong. Day twenty hadn’t been the turning point for him. It was day thirty. It was today.

 

**Author's Note:**

> beelikej made the beautiful art for this when my story was claimed for the Quick_Bang April/May 2019 Quick Fics on Offer. You can see the entire process on how this was created here: https://beelikej.livejournal.com.


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